by Tattoo Goodboy
assisted by G. G. Goodson
Ah wuz lurking when ah saw their invitation to a dinner-daintz at Dawgs ‘n Dead Cats-Uptown in Booger Bay. I felt like a slung out chittlin' cawse ah wuzzint invited. People know thet Tony-Tattoo is the white-suited disco king of the daintz floor who never turns a party down!
RiverDancer had dubiety about me and G.G. GoodJookin' agoin' but since ah luv Southern women I was sho-nuff gonna' go. An ah did. Wore mah white suit, too. That importunate chick G.G. snuck out with me in her white silk harem pants, white sports bra, black silk vest, black ballet slippers and a G.G. hairdo. Moppy tagged along to be sure we were mannerly and unpretentious so as to not embarrass the fambly.
Ah'v always had taste for thu social graces butt the band wuz plain' high-falutin' music ah'd never heard before. Ev'rybuddy seemed to like it alot. RiverDancer and Mr.RiverDancer chased each other around the room (daintzing) and sumbuddy handed me a nightmare. It's called hors d'oeuvres - a little white fish, 3 green bean sprouts and a dawg fennel. Somebuddy else handed me Clos De Mesnil in a crystal flute but anomoly drink Root Beer.
Time dragged on and G.G. GoodJookin' said ah shudden oughta drunk six Clos De Mesnils, butt ah hated thet music and ah wuzzint stayin much longer. Besides, it wuz perfect for bumping into sumbuddy ah dint want to hang out with.
All of a sudden ah herd a mere bagatelle of sumthin' called, "Macho Man," so ah popped a few steps with G.G. She ast if ah made those steps up and ah said yes. Well, ah saw it on TV first and then ah made it up!
Ah had already started mah solo dance when G.G. wiped mah forehead an hit mah hair. I spent a lot of time on my mah hair and she hit it! I yelled at her, "Yew hit mah hair! Yew hit mah hair!".
A confuted Moppy came stomping toward us and she wuzint daintzing either.
Ah flung G.G. aside, jumped backards an landed on a policeman standing next to a cowboy and uh Indian an a man in a hard hat with uh tool belt. He (thu policeman) ast if ah wuz "In The Navy," and ah said "No, but I wuz fixin' to join.”
Better thu Navy than gettin' in reach of Moppy. Mah insensate flock of fleas were chanting, "shall we walk home or take thu dawg?"
Long story short? Thet policeman started yellin' for us all to go to the YMCA. Moppy cawt me and thu next day enrolled me in thu world renowned class, "SOC 390 Social Theory For Dawgs.” Yew may have seen their infomercials on late-night TV between George Foreman's Secret and Victoria's Grills.
I am near a condition of animal, mineral and vegetable collapse buoyed only by the prospect that yawl will come git me or send money . . . an ah mean rat now!
NOTE FROM GENE: I've had this Tattoo story for about a year. It's a takeoff on Saturday Night Fever and the Village People. Of course, Tattoo bleeves he invented everything. He's wearing the Travolta trademark white suit. If the white suit is a Saturday Night Fever copyright infrigement, I can take his clothes off . . . HeeHee.
Currently Tattoo is in the closet on his laptop (has his own e-mail address now) working on a story about his parotthead adventures. He tours with Jimmy Buffet since "It's 5:00 somewhere!" He really looks cute in his parrothead outfit -- complete with hat, guitar, sunglasses and parrots on his head and tail.
BIO: G. G. Goodson writes online using the penname “RiverDancer.” She says she has no credentials other than she is a retired Corporate Director of Human Resources. She works occasionally as a Surface Mine Safety consultant. RiverDancer and her husband have lived in the panhandle of Florida all their lives.
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